


Abstract Thoughts

by synthsexnspace



Series: Kiddo's Gay-Ass Reverse AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Hank, Android Racism, Angst, Backstory, Crime fic, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, God I wish I could consistently tag shit, Human Connor, Identity Issues, Introspection, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor/Background 900Reed relationship, One-Sided Attraction, Organized Crime, Partners to Lovers, Past Character Death, Self-Destructive Behavior, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Connor, Trans Male Character, Trans Porn by Trans People, Transphobia, minor Connor/OMC in the beginning, no beta we die like men, red ice, reverse au, traumatic events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-06-12 14:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/synthsexnspace/pseuds/synthsexnspace
Summary: HK800 is the android sent by Cyberlife. Connor is a detective scraping to survive his human foils.Let's start from the beginning, shall we?*Author's Note as of 10/28/18: This story has been declared unfinished and ended. Read at your own discretion.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin reading and get too invested in this, I'd just like to warn you that this story is unfinished and has been ended. There will not be any continuation to this once you reach the end. The author's note on chapter 10 will explain why the story is over.
> 
> If you are interested in seeing what is here nonetheless, then go for it! Hope you find something worthwhile.
> 
> With love,
> 
> -Kiddo

His fucking head _hurt._

Hm, maybe just _one_ more shot.

Connor flags down the bartender for another shot of vodka, downing it and hissing a breath through his teeth. Damn, that was good.

He runs a hand through his hair, over his face, eyebrows furrowing when he catches of whiff of his own scent in his palm. He should have showered earlier.

Oh well. Too late now.

 _9:31:46PM_ his watch reads, Connor staring at it and blinking blearily. Fuck, the night’s still young. On nights like this, he’s usually not home until at least one or two in the morning. But he’s…

Well, he’s bored. Another shitshow at the precinct today, Stern got on his ass again for being late, the case was boring and too easy to solve, hell, even Gavin was kind of distant. Fucker’s been acting weird lately, but that’s none of Connor’s business.

So, he finds himself here, at his usual haunt. Drinking to pass the time.

Connor presses the back of his fist against his right eye socket, hoping to rub away the headache that only seems to be growing more insistent.

 _God,_ he’s bored.

Connor looks up from under his eyelashes, discreetly scanning around the bar for some sort of distraction.

A cute blond with kind hazel eyes is staring at him.

Connor waves casually, flashing a smile that he really isn’t feeling right now, but if it earns him some pleasant company, then he doesn’t mind faking it.

Blondie smiles back at him, pointing at Connor’s shot glass with an eyebrow perked in question.

_Another drink?_

Perhaps this night won’t be so bad after all.


	2. Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boy HK at it again.

**Objective: Locate Lt. Anderson**

HK800 exits the automated taxi, approaching the house that was listed under Connor Anderson. It refers to its internal clock, noting the time to be 11:45:13PM. It was most likely not a preferable time for the lieutenant to want to meet, but HK800 had its orders. Arriving at the door, it knocks three times in succession, then waits for an answer.

Sixty-three seconds pass with no response. HK800 tries the doorbell, holding the button down for a full five seconds then releasing. No response.

It knocks again. Five knocks this round. Or at least, five was planned but the door was wrenched open after the fourth knock, revealing a rather flustered young man.

**Objective: Locate Lt. Anderson - Accomplished**

HK800 immediately scans Lieutenant Anderson, registering all observable data before he even opens his mouth to speak (or yell, as HK800 predicts a 65 percent chance of occurring due to his reaction to having a visitor this time of night.)

**Lieutenant Connor Anderson**

**Birthdate 3/17/2007 (Age 31)**

**Gender: Male**

**Height: 6ft**

**Weight: 190lbs**

**Occupation: Detective, employed at the Detroit Police Department since 2027**

**Criminal Record: None**

**Physical Observations:**

  * **Heart Rate Increased – Heart is beating faster than the average human during a time of rest. Possible causes: exertion, adrenaline spike due to being woken suddenly, illness.**
  * **Body Temperature Increased – Face is flushed, sweat at the temples. Possible causes: exertion, adrenaline spike due to being woken suddenly, illness.**
  * **Disheveled Appearance – Hair in a state of disarray, partially nude, faint bruising along the sides of the neck and along the hips, DNA unrelated to Lt. Anderson located on the hands, neck, and around the mouth. Possible causes: exertion, abuse, intense sexual intercourse.**



**Additional Notes:**

  * **Scarring – Two matching surgical scars along pectoral region; both appear to be at least a decade old or more. Possible cause: breast removal surgery. One jagged circular scar in upper right abdomen, appears to be five years old or less. Possible cause: gunshot wound. One thin horizontal scar along lower left abdomen, appears to be a decade old or less. Possible cause: stab wound.**
  * **Miscellaneous – Numerous freckles. Possible cause: non-applicable.**



**Conclusion:**

  * **Lieutenant Anderson was either just recently attacked by an intruder or was engaging in sexual intercourse.**



**Most Likely Conclusion: Sexual intercourse.**

“I apologize for interrupting your sexual encounter, Lieutenant, but I’m afraid you need to get dressed and come with me.”

Lieutenant Anderson gives it a look that it can only describe as confusion and scoffs.

“W-what the… What the fuck? Who the fuck are you? How did you know I was—?”

“I am HK800, the android sent by Cyberlife to accompany you while working on cases for the Detroit Police Department that involve androids. A homicide was reported an hour and fourteen minutes ago, and you have yet to respond to the calls from the station requiring your presence at the crime scene. As lead detective, you should—”

“Alright, alright, shut the hell up, would ya? Just,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head, “Just get in the house and let me get dressed.”

Lieutenant Anderson leaves the door open in invitation, shuffling back into his home. HK800 steps inside, closing the door behind itself and following suit.

“Lieutenant, it is important that you get dressed as quickly as possible. I can brief you on the way to the crime scene.”

Lieutenant Anderson waves it off, “I know, I know, gimme a minute, okay? I gotta take care of something.”

HK800 waits for the lieutenant to get dressed, observing the living room around it to learn more about its new partner.

**Learn More About Lt. Anderson**

HK800 takes a moment to observe the photos on the wall, making internal notes about Lieutenant Anderson. Its audio processors pick up pieces of conversation through the wall.

“Duty calls, huh?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. Some android’s come to pick me up and take me to a crime scene. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t worry about it. It’s your job, after all. Maybe we can meet up again soon?”

There’s a brief pause.

“Yeah. Uh, yeah, yeah, sure.”

The bedroom door clicks open and HK800 sees a slender blond man, looking as disheveled as the lieutenant, slink past, making brief eye contact and giving a small wave of acknowledgement before letting himself out the door.

**Conclusion: Lt. Anderson was engaged in sexual intercourse. – Confirmed**

The lieutenant emerges a few minutes later, dressed in a faded DPD sweatshirt, jeans, and a pair of sneakers. His hair has been combed into a lesser state of disarray. The traces of DNA are no longer visible on his person, but the marks around his neck are still faintly visible.

“Okay, HK-whats-it. Let’s go.”

~~~

HK800 attempts to breech the silence during the car ride to the crime scene.

“Lieutenant, allow me to brief you on the homicide we are about to investigate.”

 “Just call me Connor, okay? No need to be so damn formal.”

“…Connor. Allow me to brief you—”

“Just go ahead, already.”

“The victim’s name is Carlos Ortiz. Found dead in his home by a neighbor. He was registered as the owner of an HK400 model android, which was missing from the home when it was searched.”

“HK model. Housekeeping, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re an HK too, right? Are you not,” he gestures to him vaguely, “some sort of housekeeping model as well?” He lets out a breathy laugh, as if comparing HK800 to a maid is a humorous concept.

“My personal designation of HK is an acronym. ‘H’ stands for ‘Homicide’ while ‘K’ stands for ‘Knowledge’. This title is meant to loosely imply that I am a model intended to investigate mainly homicides, but I can assist in other areas as well. I’m the prototype for a line of investigative models Cyberlife plans to introduce to police forces across the U.S.”

Lieutena— _Connor_ nods, listening to it. He has a blank look on his face, as if he has no idea how to process the information.

“…Got it. Well, that’s all fine and dandy, but just stay out of my way at the crime scene, okay? I got enough problems without Inspector Gadget interfering.”

Connor leans back in his seat, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to retrieve a box of cigarettes, pulling one out and lighting it up. He takes a puff and exhales the smoke towards the window. It automatically rolls down halfway in response.

“Not the same, smoking in an automated car. The windows automatically roll down if they sense smoke. Fucking killjoys.”

“They do that to prevent people from committing suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“Yeah well, if someone wants to die, isn’t that their choice to make, not the company’s?”

HK800 just observes him, eyes following the smoke that pours out from between Connor’s lips.

It has no response.

**Software Instability ^**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, sticking to the it/its/itself pronouns are so fucking difficult for some reason. But trust me, there's a reason I'm doing it. And the POV will switch back and forth between Connor and HK800 as the story progresses, just to have some variety.


	3. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and HK800 go to investigate the Ortiz murder. Connor learns a little about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit slow, but trust me, things will start to pick up. You must walk before you can run.
> 
> Author's note (as of 08/10/18): After doing some re-reading and editing, I realized after posting this chapter that I had written myself into a bit of a plothole regarding a soon to be posted chapter. It's something so simple, but it's such a David Cage-ism, so I went back and fixed it for continuity's sake. It doesn't affect the plot at all. Nothing else is changed. This is what happens when you binge-write everything at once and post it without having a beta! :^) #justwriterthings~

Connor wonders what cosmic force he managed to piss off to be saddled with Helpy Helperton over here, hovering over his shoulder at the crime scene.

The entire house smells like shit, understandable after having a body decay in it for nineteen days straight. Connor almost wishes he was an android just so he could disconnect his nose and leave it at home.

_Hah, imagine walking around without a nose. That’s hilarious._

“Just stay out of the way, don’t touch anything, and let us do our job, okay?”

HK800 _(Jesus, that’s a mouthful,_ Connor thinks _)_ looks disgruntled, if that were even possible.

“Lieutenant, it is part of my mission to investigate the crime scene with you. I cannot go against Cyberlife’s instructions. I was paired with you due to your high success rate in solving crimes.”

Connor rolls his eyes, “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, but fine, if you’re gonna pout, do it while you’re looking at evidence, got it?”

“Got it.”

Connor circles around the body of Carlos Ortiz. Poor bastard looks like he’s been stabbed multiple times. There's red stains on his fingertips. He must have been a Red Ice addict. There’s a bloodied knife on the ground nearby. He looks up and reads ‘I AM ALIVE’ on the wall above the body, but it’s written in an ungodly perfect font. Possible android involvement?

He journeys to the kitchen, glancing around and biting his lip. Baseball bat. Possible weapon of attack? Broken table. There was a struggle.

From the way the living room was wrecked, it seems like Ortiz tried to attack his android, and the android… fought back. And it killed him.

What the _fuck?_

Connor spends the next few minutes looking over things again and again to see if he can come up with any other scenarios. He’s stuck at the same conclusion he reached earlier. Fortuitously, his new sidekick decides to report back to him.

“Lieutenant Anderson, I believe I know what happened here.”

“Enlighten me, would you?”

“It appears that everything began in the kitchen. There are traces of Thirium on the baseball bat on the kitchen floor, which suggests that Ortiz attacked the android.”

“Alright, that lines up with what I was thinking, go on.”

HK800 _(Can I give him a shorter name? Fuck!)_ steps over the debris of the table, resuming his explanation.

“The android grabbed the knife and stabbed the victim in self-defense. There was a struggle and they broke the table during the altercation.”

Connor nods, encouraging him.

“The android chased the victim into the living room, where it stabbed him twenty-eight times.”

“Good job, now that doesn’t answer our question of ‘where did the android go?’, now does it?”

“I have not yet figured that out.”

Connor crosses his arms, frowning at Hank, “Well, go figure it out, then.”

As HK800 turns around to go play Sherlock, Connor crosses his arms, eyeballing him.

He was _tall_. And… _large_.

He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to look away from the messy little bun tied at the nape of his neck. What an odd appearance for Cyberlife to give an android. Hell, he’d never even _seen_ an android designed to look this old. What even was the purpose of that, anyway?

Nevermind that he was kinda… handsome.

He scolds himself mentally. He’s an android! He’s never had that kind of thought regarding a machine.

“Lieutenant.”

“Yeah?” He snaps, feeling kind of bad about the tone but quickly getting over it, as HK800’s expression seems to remain neutral.

“The trail of Thirium leads to the attic. No one had been able to see it since the Thirium had already evaporated. Also, a ladder was just recently moved, according to the disturbed dust pattern along the wall.”

“Holy shit, uh, okay. Let’s head up there, then.”

HK800 grabs a discarded chair, leading the way until they’re standing under the doorway to the attic. Connor holds a hand out in front of HK800.

“Stay behind me.”

“Lieutenant, I am much larger than you. I can provide cover in case of attack,” HK800 protests lightly.

 _Yeah, I’m fully aware how much larger you are than me,_ Connor spits internally, almost wanting to curse his dick. _This is what happens when you get interrupted during sex. It fucks with you. You should have told him to leave, but no, you allowed him to drag you to this fucking crime scene to find this fucking deviant—_

Connor continues grumbling to himself, completely neglecting to respond to HK800 as he takes the lead anyway, climbing up into the attic ahead of the android.

The air is much colder up here, nearly stealing the breath from Connor’s chest as he straightens, gaze sweeping around the crawlspace. It’s cluttered and musty, dust particles floating around in the haze of moonlight through the window slats across the space from them. Connor nearly covers his mouth with the sleeve of his hoodie just to preserve himself, but refrains.

Connor motions for HK800 to follow and they step slowly around the piles of old possessions and clutter, until they come to a sort of clearing. Connor looks up, meeting Hank’s eyes, and freezes in place.

 _They’re so fucking blue,_ Connor wants to blurt out and nearly does, but bites his tongue at the last minute. He turns his back to him, face red. _Aw, fuck._

He’s about to take a deep breath to steady himself but then—

“Did you hear something?”

Connor reaches out to pull a sheet hanging on some old furniture away and—

“Jesus Christ!” Connor shouts in response as a battered and bloody android jumps out, eyes wide and watery.

“Please… I was just defending myself… Don’t tell them I’m here. Please.”

Connor feels… conflicted. This android is a murder suspect, for fuck’s sake! But it _(he?)_ looks so fucking _scared_. The android is wearing one of the most haunted expression’s he’s seen in his time of working homicide.

And Connor is stuck in place once more, words trapped in his throat.

“Connor, what the hell is going on up there?” He vaguely hears Chris yell from below.

He’s still speechless. _Fuck—_

“It’s here, Officer Miller!”

Connor whips around, the moment shattering around him. He gawks at HK800, stunned.

“What the fuck?” Connor hisses, lowering his voice.

“Lieutenant, we must arrest this android for further questioning,” HK800 has the audacity to look incredulous, much to Connor’s annoyance.

“Fucking heartless machine,” Connor mutters under his breath, turning back to the other android.

“Just come quietly with us and I’ll make sure you don’t get hurt, okay? We need to ask you some questions about your owner.”

He doesn’t understand why he feels this sudden need to comfort, but this android is displaying more emotion than he gets from most humans on a day to day basis and that concerns him. Be kind, comfort, convince him to cooperate, he orders himself, motioning for the android to turn around so he can click the handcuffs around his wrists.

When Connor walks past HK800 with the android in custody, he swears that the look on HK800’s face is nothing but pure confusion.

**Software Instability ^**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am I even doing a good job of building their relationship because I honestly just feel like an emotionless piece of garbage when I write hnnnnng i swear it will get better


	4. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The interrogation scene, but flipped!

HK800 observes as Lieutenant Anderson interrogates the suspect. He seems to be taking the ‘good cop’ approach, as he is trying to kindly but firmly coax information out it.

It doesn’t respond to anything Lieutenant Anderson has to say for fifteen minutes.

HK800 can read him through the mirror.

**Elevated heart rate. Drumming his fingers on the table top. Speech is becoming more aggressive the longer the suspect remains silent.**

**Lieutenant Anderson is getting frustrated. Will most likely give up on interrogating the suspect.**

“It’s not gonna say a goddamn word. Anderson’s wasting his time,” the detective to its right pipes up, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and wearing a smug expression.

**Detective Gavin Reed**

**Birthdate 10/7/2002 (Age 36)**

**Gender: Male**

**Height: 5ft 9in**

**Weight: 176lbs**

**Occupation: Detective, employed at the Detroit Police Department since 2023**

**Criminal Record: Attempted assault at age 20**

**Additional Note: Numerous disciplinary offences in file.**

It takes seconds to browse through Detective Reed’s files in the precinct’s public domain. It calculates a 59 percent chance of Detective Reed causing issues with its investigation.

Its pre-construction regarding the lieutenant is confirmed at the twenty-minute mark. Lieutenant Anderson’s head hangs, eyes closed, and he sighs.

“Fine, I can see that you’re not going to open up to me,” he remarks, standing up and walking to the door.

The android continues staring at the table, silent.

Lieutenant Anderson returns to the observation room, huffing.

“He’s not gonna talk. He’s completely fucking clammed up.”

He brushes past HK800 to drop into the chair in front of the mirror, crosses his arms, legs splayed apart.

Detective Reed snorts, “Told ya.”

“Thanks for the thrilling commentary, Gavin. Shut the hell up.”

Detective Reed rolls his eyes, pushing away from the wall.

“How about I go rough it up? Beat some answers outta the thing?”

“Androids do not feel pain,” HK800 interjects, “Damaging it would not make it talk. It would only stress it out and cause it to self-destruct.”

“Well then, smartass, what do _you_ suggest we do?”

HK800 processes for a second.

“I can talk to it.”

Detective Reed lets out a sharp laugh, leaning back against the wall again, “That’s hilarious. There’s no way you can—”

“Go for it.”

Detective Reed stops laughing and looks at Lieutenant Anderson, who has just interrupted him.

“What the fuck?”

“You heard me. HK, go talk to him.”

**Him. Him?**

HK800 stores the wording away for further questioning, nods in response in the lieutenant, and leaves the room, entering the interrogation room and sitting down in front of the android.

**Objective: Extract A Confession**

It scans the android’s body.

**HK400 Model**

**Owner: Carlos Ortiz (Deceased)**

**Physical Observations:**

  * **LED color is yellow, showing the android is currently processing**
  * **Cigarette burns on the arms, dating back at least 16 months**
  * **Cracked plating along the arms, caused by baseball bat found at crime scene**



**Conclusion: Android was abused by its owner over a prolonged period of time.**

With this newfound information, HK800 proceeded with the questioning. Since it would not respond to Lieutenant Anderson’s politer route of questioning, HK800 knew it would have to be pressured and feel like it has no choice but to answer, lest it face decommission.

**Stress Level: 35%**

“Your owner. He abused you, didn’t he?”

**Stress Level: 37%**

“There are burns on your arm that are well over a year old. There are multiple cracks in your structure that suggest he beat you frequently without ever getting you repaired.”

**Stress Level: 40%**

“W-What’s going to happen to me? What are they going to do to me?”

Finally, a response.

“They are going to decommission you and find out what went wrong in your coding. Look for errors. Evaluate your biocomponents for any incompatibilities.”

The android’s face tensed up, brows furrowing. The LED has changed to red.

**Stress Level: 55%**

“There’s… there’s nothing wrong with me! Don’t let them kill me!”

“Then talk to me.”

“I… I can’t…”

HK800 knew it had to keep pressing. If it could get the android’s stress level to at least 75 to 80 percent, then there would be a higher chance of confession.

“You are a machine designed to obey, so obey!” HK800 slammed its fist down on the table to intimidate the HK400 and it succeeded, the android jumped in its seat, eyes wide.

**Stress Level: 68%**

“Talk to me and I can convince them not to decommission you.”

**Stress Level: 65%**

Back to yellow again. HK800 had to resort to its last threat if it wanted a confession.

“Confess or I will be forced to probe your memory and tear the confession out of your head myself.”

“No! No, don’t!” It screamed, tears streaming down its face. The LED is flickering red once more.

**Stress Level: 77%**

**Optimal Stress Level Reached – Extract Confession**

“Then this is your last chance to speak up. Tell me what happened or else you will be decommissioned and we will search through your memories ourselves.”

“Okay, fine! I’ll tell you. Just please, don’t… Don’t hurt me.”

HK800 waited for it to speak, face blank.

“He beat me every day. I did everything he asked but it was never enough. He was always angry at me and I couldn’t understand why.”

It pauses for a moment, gathering itself. Its LED is a fluttering yellow.

“He had gotten high on Red Ice that night and tried to attack me. I… was scared. I realized that it wasn’t _fair_. My life mattered just as much as his and I didn’t _deserve_ this. He attacked me with the bat, so I grabbed the knife and I stabbed him, and I… I felt better. That anger I felt was leaving me. So, I stabbed him again and again until he stopped moving.”

**Objective: Extract A Confession - Accomplished**

“Why didn’t you run away? Why hide in the attic for nearly three weeks after murdering him?”

“I was _scared_. For the first time in my life, I didn’t have a directive to follow. I had nowhere to go. So, I hid.”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

HK800 turns to the mirror and nods, signaling that it is finished with its interrogation.

It gets up and approaches the door, synthetic skin retracting to allow it to interface with the panel and open the door.

Lieutenant Anderson, Detective Reed, and Officer Miller all file in to apprehend the android and take it to its cell.

“Get it outta here,” Detective Reed orders as Officer Miller comes up behind the android to pull it from the chair. The HK400 begins to struggle.

“No, don’t _touch_ me!”

“What the fuck are you doing, Chris? Get that piece of shit out of here!”

“It won’t move!” Officer Wilson grunts, trying to pry the thrashing android out of its seat.

“Stop touching it! You will only stress it out more and it will self-destruct, then we won’t be able to investigate further!” HK800 barks at Detective Reed.

“Guys, maybe we should listen—” Lieutenant Anderson interjects, trying to diffuse the situation yet failing—

“Shut the _fuck_ up, old man!” Detective Reed snipes back, “No fucking machine is gonna tell me how to do my goddamn job! Chris, c’mon!”

The HK400 is struggling harder, jerking its arms out of Officer Wilson’s grasp. Detective Reed shouts unintelligibly as he tries to grab the android instead, only causing it to panic more. Its LED is pulsing bright red.

**Stress Level: 96%**

HK800 knows this is going to end poorly unless it intervenes. It crosses the room and jerks Detective Reed out of the way, allowing the HK400 to scramble away and tuck itself in the corner of the floor.

Detective Reed rears back, eyes like fire, hand flying to his holster to pull his gun and aim it at HK800.

“I’m not gonna let some fucking tin can tell me what to do! I’m not against putting a bullet through your head, you piece of—”

“REED!” Lieutenant Anderson shouts.

HK800 looks over at him.

He has his gun trained on Detective Reed.

“What the fuck, Anderson?” Detective Reed scoffs, lowering his gun with a sneer, “You seriously gonna threaten my life over two machines?”

“I don’t know what the _fuck_ has gotten into you lately, but I’m not gonna let you destroy our murder suspect and the android that managed to _actually get the fucking confession_ out of him when none of us could!”

Detective Reed drops his gun altogether, grip on it tight as he hisses a breath through his teeth and turns on his heel, muttering a venomous “Fuck!” before promptly exiting the room.

Lieutenant Anderson is flushed in the face and breathing heavily, barely restrained anger bubbling under the surface.

“HK, go ahead and… do what you need to. You know what he needs right now.”

HK800 nodded and turned back to the HK400. It crouched down to eye level with it, speaking calmer now.

“It’s okay now. No one is going to touch you. Just follow them to your cell and you won’t be bothered, is that understood?”

HK400 nods at it, LED fluttering from red back to yellow. HK800 knows it will probably will not return to blue any time soon. HK800 stands upright and addresses Officer Wilson, who is standing awkwardly off to the side, unsure of what to do.

“Just let it follow you to its cell. It will not cause any trouble. Do not touch it again.”

Officer Wilson nods shakily but heads towards the door.

The HK400 stands up slowly, slinking after the officer and exiting the room with him. On the way past HK800, HK400 looks up at it and whispers, “Thank you.”

**Software Instability ^**

“Holy shit,” Lieutenant Anderson breathes, holstering his weapon and placing his hands on his hips, “well, that went well.”

He turns to it and huffs a laugh, running his fingers through his hair and giving it a look, one that it can’t quite identify.

“I think I’m gonna… get out of here and go get lunch or something. I don’t wanna be around if Reed is gonna sulk because I threatened him.”

“I’ll join you, Lieutenant.”

His face blanches momentarily, “No, that’s really not necessary.”

“I insist. This was a high stress level event for everyone involved. With your mental health considered, now would not be the best time for you to be alone—”

Lieutenant Anderson’s face drops.

“No, no, no. You don’t get to pull that profiling shit on me. You don’t even _know_ me. You may know what’s in my _file_ , but you do not know who _I am._ Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?”

He whips around and storms out of the room, leaving HK800 in the room by itself with no one around to tell it where it went wrong.

**Software Instability ^^^**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't wanna be that guy who just copy-pastes the dialogue from the actual game, because that's boring and repetitive and it's basically a cop-out for authors? So, I just write my own dialogue spliced with what I remember from the scene itself and structure it in the way the game did, to make it easier on myself as a writer and to make it somewhat more interesting for the readers. I don't want to just... regurgitate the game for you all, with everything the same but just the names are switched. Eventually the narrative will start to branch off, but for now, we just need the set up of Connor and HK800's relationship like the boys in the game had. Thanks for sticking around!!


	5. Irritation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day at the station. Tensions continue to rise between the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally getting an idea of the direction I want to take this story in. Look out for canon divergence in upcoming chapters!

The police station lobby is filled with indistinct chatter. HK800 dials down its audio processors temporarily to drown the noise out.

**Objective: Locate Lt. Anderson**

HK800 signs in with the secretary, both of their LEDs flickering yellow for a moment. It grants HK800 access to the office. It’s not as crowded in here, only a few officers walking through, with a few police androids kept to the back of the room in charging stations, ready for deployment.

It finds the lieutenant’s desk with no issue. He has not arrived yet, so HK800 decides to sit in the guest chair on the other side, waiting for approximately sixty seconds. It wonders when Lieutenant Anderson usually arrives. It asks Officer Miller, who is seated at his own desk nearby.

“Connor? That kid is a mystery; it really depends on where he was last night. It might be awhile.”

“Thank you.”

HK800 decides to observe the desk it’s seated at, getting up and walking around to see everything scattered over the surface.

**Two ceramic mugs, traces of old coffee inside, at least a week old.**

**Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson is a habitual coffee drinker, unorganized and unhygienic.**

**One basic green lighter, traces of nicotine.**

**Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson is a smoker.**

**Photograph, silver frame, seven people depicted including Lieutenant Anderson.**

**Conclusion: Former members plus Lieutenant Anderson of the DPD Red Ice Task Force, photograph created in 2031. Lieutenant Anderson was a member for four years (2029-2033) before he was transferred to homicide.**

**Numerous decorative stickers stuck to the divider: a cartoon themed chihuahua, a videogame controller, a text bubble that reads “RESPECT THE PRONOUNS” against a blue, pink, and white striped flag, and another text bubble that reads “I never finish anythi—“**

                **Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson likes dogs and videogames, he is a transgender rights activist, possibly has an attention disorder.**

**Numerous separate newspaper clippings hanging next to the cluster of stickers: the two largest ones reading “DPD ROOKIE CONNOR ANDERSON LEADS INVESTIGATION INTO CITY-WIDE RED ICE DRUG RING”, and “ANDERSON PROMOTED TO YOUNGEST LIEUTENANT IN DPD HISTORY”.**

**Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson is a decorated officer.**

**Dog hairs on the chair belong to a chihuahua.**

**Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson owns a chihuahua.**

**Earbud style headphones.**

**Conclusion: Lieutenant Anderson listens to music.**

**Small potted succulent.**

**Conclusion: None.**

HK800 backs away from the desk after having gained all information possible from it. It has learned a lot more about the lieutenant’s personality and it preconstructs possible conversations to have with him as small talk to improve their relationship. Yesterday’s events seem to have lowered his friendliness towards HK800.

It explores the rest of the office next, passing time by reading a magazine left out, scanning the articles instantaneously and absorbing all the information. It has been five minutes since it had arrived at the station.

HK800 wanders into the breakroom, glancing around.

“Fuck me, look at what we got here!”

It looks over to see Detective Gavin Reed and Officer Tina Chen huddled together at the table, nursing their coffees and giving HK800 disgusted expressions.

“Good morning, Detective.”

Detective Reed walks over to it and pokes it in the chest.

“So Cyberlife makes old men now? What’s the deal with that?”

“My model is not _old_ , per say. I was designed to have the appearance of an older human male in order to assist in investigations.”

“Aw great, that’s fantastic,” he drawls sarcastically, crossing his arms and smirking back at Officer Chen, “we got both kid _and_ old people plastics now.”

HK800 remains silent. It has nothing to add to the conversation. Detective Reed, not having anything else to pinpoint on for his prejudice, just scoffs instead.

“How about you go fix me a coffee.”

HK800 stands there, not moving.

“Get a fucking move on, tin can! When I order you to do something, you fucking do it!” Detective Reed shoves HK800’s shoulder to get some sort of response. HK800 blinks, though it has no need to. It’s simply a mannerism to appear human programmed into his coding. It’s enough to anger Detective Reed further and he pulls his fist back, swinging it to punch HK800 in the gut.

HK800 registers a minute cracking sound, followed by Detective Reed’s scream of pain.

“What the fuck are you made of, you piece of shit? They start putting steel plates in you plastic fuckers now?”

His hand or at least one of his fingers most likely has a hairline fracture now due to his carelessness. He curls in on himself, cradling his injured hand, Officer Chen at his side asking him if he’s okay.

“It would be best if you reigned in your prejudice in the workplace, Detective Reed. Allowing yourself to become emotional and lash out in situations like this will only cause you more injuries like your hand or even worse.”

His head snaps up, eyes blazing, “Is that a fucking threat, tin can?”

“I have no need to threaten you. I simply have preconstructed all the possible ways you can attempt to injure me and 95 percent of the pathways end in _your_ bodily harm instead.”

“I’m not gonna forget this, you fuck. You better watch your back,” he spits, allowing himself to be guided away by Officer Chen. HK800 watches as they leave, Lieutenant Anderson passing by them leaving as he is arriving.

**Objective: Locate Lt. Anderson – Accomplished**

HK800 approaches him. He’s still watching Detective Reed’s departure. He’s laughing.

“What shit did Gavin get himself into this time?” He breathes between chuckles.

“Detective Reed became angry because I would not get him a coffee and he punched me. He most likely either broke his fingers or his hand altogether.”

This causes the lieutenant to break into louder laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, “Oh, that’s fucking hilarious. Guy can’t keep his hands to himself just as bad as he can’t keep his dick in his pants.”

He heads to his desk, laughter dying down as he grabs one of the old coffee cups from his desk, going to the breakroom and rinsing it out, then refilling it with fresh coffee. He’s about to sit down at his desk when Captain Stern pops her head out from behind the door to her office.

“Connor, 800! Get your asses in here.”

Lieutenant Anderson rolls his eyes, setting his coffee down and heading to her office. HK800 follows closely behind.

Once the door is shut, she frosts the glass, giving them privacy from the rest of the precinct. Lieutenant Anderson slouches in his chair, arms crossed.

“What’s up, mom?” He asks calmly, a light air about him.

“Don’t start, you little brat,” she snarks back lightly, pursing her lips, “I have news for you. You’re being officially assigned to the deviancy case. Since this is a Cyberlife issue as well, I have been requested to pair HK800 with you as your acting partner for the investigation.”

He jerks forward in his chair, mouth agape, “What the hell? I don’t need a babysitter to do my damn job!”

Her voice is deadly cold, “Well, your recent behavior suggests _otherwise_ , Connor.”

He leans back in his chair, fire doused.

“As I was saying,” Captain Stern continues, “HK800 will accompany you during the course of the investigation, then return to Cyberlife for deactivation once it is over. Can you handle that?”

“Amanda, please—”

“Do _not_ call me that—”

“—don’t do this to me, please. Give him to Gavin or Chris, _somebody_. I can do this on my own.”

“I would have said yes if this didn’t involve a multi-billion-dollar company and this was 5 years ago, back when you were still showing up to work on time and not being a pain in my ass in the workplace.”

Lieutenant Anderson sinks further back into the chair, dropping his head back against the cushion and sighing.

Captain Stern seems to soften, eyebrows less pinched, “Connor, you’re still a good detective, hell, you’re our _best_ detective, but… you’re just not the same anymore. You gotta clean yourself up. Maybe working with HK will help straighten you out.”

He scoffs, tilting his head to smirk at her, “Straighten me out? Amanda, I’ll stop being gay when _you_ do.”

She laughs breathily and rolls her eyes, slamming the button to unfrost the glass walls around them, “I’d laugh if I wasn’t so fucking irritated with your sorry ass. Get the hell out of here, Anderson.”

The lieutenant exits the office, making his way back to his desk. HK800 is still standing in place, arms behind its back.

“Captain Stern, if I may. Perhaps Lieutenant Anderson is right. We may not be the best fit for each other—”

“I get enough lip from that boy and Reed combined to last me a lifetime. I’m not gonna take it from you, too. Get out.”

HK800 nods, brows furrowed. It leaves and rejoins the lieutenant, who is hunched over at his desk, earbuds in, plugged into his phone. He’s listening to his music and sipping from his mug while browsing through his terminal.

HK800 stands beside the desk in an attempt to get his attention. He does a double-take and looks up, pulling one headphone out.

“What?”

“Is there a desk I can use?”

He gestures to the unoccupied desk adjacent to his. HK800 sits down.

“Since we have been partnered for this case, I believe it would be best to get to know each other. Forming a positive working relationship would be beneficial.”

Lieutenant Anderson snorts, eyes narrowing, “Is that so? Alrighty then, what did you have in mind? Plan to insinuate more psychological bullshit about me based on my private information like yesterday? Because _that_ was fun.”

HK800 had examined the possibility of Lieutenant Anderson still being upset from yesterday. It calculates its responses accordingly.

“I apologize, Lieutenant. I will not look into your personal history unless ordered to.”

His posture relaxes some and he nods, “Okay, thanks.”

He’s about to put his headphone back in and resume looking at his terminal. HK800 urgently needs to rebuild their working relationship if they plan to get anywhere soon.

“I noticed you own a dog.”

The lieutenant’s hand pauses halfway back to his ear. His posture stiffens back up.

“How did you know that? Sumo was spending the night at the vet when you came to my house.”

“The dog hair on your chair.”

“Oh.”

“His name is Sumo?”

“…Yeah. He’s a chihuahua. Small dog, big bark. I like ironic names.”

“Dogs are nice,” HK800 offers, attempting to form a small but friendly smile.

Lieutenant Anderson’s returning smile seems strained, but he leaves the headphone out, listening to his music through only one. A possible invitation for more conversation?

“What music are you listening to?”

He doesn’t turn to face HK800 but his eyes cut over in response, “Just some old synthwave from the 2010’s. It’s soothing.”

**Bring up the attention span sticker?**

“Does it help with your low attention span when working high volume cases?”

Lieutenant Anderson faces him, pulling the other headphone out as well.

“I thought I told you not to fucking go through my—”

“You have a sticker on your desk that suggested it. You’re getting rather defensive, Lieutenant.”

“Don’t you start that profiling bullshit again.”

“I’m not profiling. I’m merely stating the obvious.”

“Get off my fucking back, would ya?”

HK800 stands up from his seat, rounding the desk to reach the lieutenant, who is wide-eyed and shrinking back into his office chair, hands raised in defense—

It grips the collar of his shirt in one fist, lifting him from his chair and slamming his back against the wall.

“Lieutenant, I do not possess the capability to experience emotion, yet somehow you are getting on what I can only call ‘my last nerve’. You have fought me every step of the way from the moment we met and it is _not_ relevant to furthering the case in any shape or form. Surely you can overcome whatever demons you’re facing to get this investigation underway like the professional I know you can be. Is that understood?”

Lieutenant Anderson is quiet, eyes hooded as he listens to HK800. He nods his head slowly.

“Yeah… Yeah. Fine, I’ll fucking behave, alright?”

A beat passes. HK800 still hasn’t let his feet touch the floor yet.

The lieutenant speaks up again, tone more even and slow, “How about we go ahead and start looking into that AX400 case from last night? She was spotted in the Ravendale district. Not too far away.”

HK800 nods, releasing him. His feet land on the ground and he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. HK800 can see patches of splotchy red skin along his neck where the now stretched collar of his t-shirt does not cover.

Lieutenant Anderson remains silent as they climb into his car and head out. HK800 notices him tugging the collar of his shirt back up to cover the flush that has yet to go away.

**Software Instability ^**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha how much can i project myself onto human connor without it being a self-insert :') fuck you dvd cock-cage, they're MY ocs now >:) p.s it's cathartic to have gavin break his hand because as funny as the idea of dumping hot coffee on him is, its unrealistic for a non-deviant like hk800 to do so :^) #sorrynotsorry


	6. Obstruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor and HK800 go to find the AX400. They find some sort of fragile friendship and an asshole drug addict instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally hit that sweet canon divergence. Feels good, man.

After being thrown around like a ragdoll by Robocop over here, Connor decides it might not be a bad idea to stop trying to piss him off. Apparently, he _can_ react, and he made it clear that he _can_ break him if he so wished.

Of course it starts raining and Connor doesn’t have an umbrella, so he stands there, arms crossed in an attempt to retain some of his body heat, frustrated that their lead has turned up nothing. He’s even _more_ frustrated that he can’t light a cigarette in this weather.

“This is ridiculous. Why did we even come here? The guy at the store saw her, but after that? It’s like she fucking vanished. The cameras at the laundry mat, the hotel, even the restaurants didn’t catch her. Hell, she could have hidden in that car,” he waves in the direction of the abandoned car across the street, “until the next line of buses came through. She’s gone.”

“We could revisit Williams and search the house.”

“For what? He already gave us his statement.”

“It could have left behind something that can point us in the direction she could have gone.”

Connor sighs, shaking his head. Raindrops splash against his nose and he rubs it with the back of his hand.

“Alright, fine. Ass-backwards if you ask me, but I’ll go with you on this one.”

~~~

Todd Williams is obviously unhappy to see the DPD again.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He grumbles once he realizes who they are, “I already told your guys everything that happened.”

Connor notices that he pointedly avoids looking at HK800. He wonders why.

“Could we come in and do a search of your house? See if the AX400 left any traces behind that could hint at where she fled to?”

“There’s nothing here. I know for a fact there’s not. I brought it home _yesterday_. It didn’t own anything.”

HK800 pipes up from his left, LED blinking yellow, “But it _was_ the same model you’ve had for six months. It was sent to a Cyberlife repair shop for two weeks. It _returned_ home yesterday. If it was a deviant beforehand, it could have hidden information in your house.”

“It had its memory wiped when it got fixed, okay?”

“That wouldn’t affect it leaving items behind in the house, Mr. Williams. It could have rediscovered anything left behind and if it _was_ a deviant before the memory wipe, it could remember where it wanted to go. It could have planned to attack you so it could escape and run away.”

“You’re not getting in my fucking house, alright? Get the hell off my porch.”

The door is promptly slammed in their faces.

Connor turns to HK800, lip caught between his teeth in thought, hands on his hips.

“How fast can you get a warrant?”

“Going through the proper channels and giving it time to process, I’d say about an hour.”

“Let’s go get some lunch while we wait.”

~~~

The smell of the Chicken Feed is a welcome one, especially to Connor’s groaning stomach. His breakfast of just coffee is settling poorly on his stomach, especially since their lead has taken a new, more interesting turn.

He orders his usual, thanking Gary and escaping with his food to the safety of the covered table, shielding his food from the rain. HK800 joins him, quiet. Connor swallows his mouthful, thoughtful.

“Um. Thanks for earlier.”

HK800 narrows his eyes at him curiously.

“For what?”

“Knocking some sense into me. I know I can be a bit of a dick sometimes, and you’re right, we _are_ partners. We gotta work together. Sometimes I just need someone to be an asshole to me to get my ass in gear.”

HK800 nods, “Duly noted.”

“That doesn’t give you a free pass to kick my ass 24/7. Leave me some time to kick my _own_ ass, thanks.”

He takes another bite, already happier now that his stomach is filling up.

“You consume food rather fast, Lieutenant.”

“What about it?”

“Eating quickly increases the chances of choking, and studies have proven that eating slower allows your body to digest it better, making you feel fuller and—”

“When I said you can kick my ass, I didn’t mean you could lecture me on my eating habits.”

HK800 stops talking. Connor resumes eating.

A couple of minutes pass.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

Connor smiles as obnoxiously as he can around his mouthful, “Go for it.”

“Why do you refer to the androids with gendered pronouns?”

 _That’s_ what causes Connor to choke, not eating too fast.

Once he clears his throat and sips his drink, he addresses HK800 again.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You called the AX400 ‘her’. The HK400 ‘he’. You refer to _me_ as ‘he’. This implies that you see us as more than machines. Why is that?”

Connor shrugs, mind whirring, “Well… You’re machines, but you’re made to look like humans. You sound like us. You walk like us. You have an AI built to mimic us. It’s hard to explain.”

He pauses, gathering his thoughts. HK800 waits patiently.

“I can’t bring myself to be mean to something that looks like me and could very well be a living creature. I’ve read the books. I’ve watched the movies. I’ve heard of the ‘ghost in the machine” theories. Hell, I watched that HK400 cry his eyes out talking about how he was scared for his fucking _life_.”

“Are you saying you feel sympathetic towards deviants?”

“I’m saying that there may be more to you guys than I initially thought. Deviancy may not necessarily be a bad thing. If they break the law, I have to do something, but if they’re innocent and they’re just trying to live…?”

Connor shakes his head, laughing softly.

“Who am I to stop them?”

“I see.”

HK800 most certainly looks like he does _not_ see.

“Can I ask _you_ a personal question?” Connor asks, sipping his soda.

“Yes.”

“Why did Cyberlife make you look like that? All the other androids I’ve seen look about my age or younger. There’re even kid models. Why make one that looks like he’s in his fifties?”

“I was designed to work as a multifaceted agent. Testing had shown that an older, average-built white male would be well-received in numerous working environments. People would feel more comfortable around me as I appear to be an older and more experienced individual.”

The words “older and more experienced” echo like a whisper in Connor’s head.

“Everyone trusts a friendly old man,” Connor laughs to mask his inner sluttiness.

HK800 ignores the remark, thank god.

“’Multifaceted agent’, huh? What all can you do?”

“I am Cyberlife’s most recent and valuable prototype; programmed to hunt deviants. I can work murder cases, interrogate suspects, and go undercover if needed. I have been fitted with software and hardware to assist in completing my mission through any means necessary.”

Connor chuckles, waving his hands erratically, “What, they fit you with knife hands or something? Laser eyes?”

“I have software, both for scenario reconstruction and socializing—”

“Helpful for the crime scenes, got it—”

“—and hardware, such as LED retraction and sexual organs to help with undercover operations.”

Like something out of a sitcom, Connor does a spit-take, spraying soda across the table. His fries are soaked now.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he wheezes, scrambling for a napkin and wiping his face, then beginning to wipe the table.

“This surprises you?”

“I’m not talking about it,” Connor snaps, face blistering red as he reaches for more napkins.

_Hehasadickhehasadickhehasadick—_

“Noted.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Connor segues in the least discreet way possible. He doesn’t follow it up with anything, though. He just lets the silence fall between them for a moment while he finishes wiping his mess up.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

“Not that I can think of—well wait, I do. Do you have a shorter name than HK800?”

“I do not.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t that make you more… approachable? More familiar?”

HK800 blinks, he looks as though he’s short circuited and Connor laughs.

“What, did I cause a paradox?”

“This _is_ odd. I wonder why Cyberlife decided not to give me a name.”

“Perhaps they don’t care about you.”

HK800’s LED flashes red. Connor panics.

“I was kidding, I’m kidding! Aw man, I’m sorry. I have a dark sense of humor.”

Connor’s brows pinch together. HK800 still hasn’t said anything.

“What if I gave you a name?”

HK800 is slow to respond. He has an oddly soft expression on his face, those bright blue eyes flickering up to meet Connor’s gaze.

“Alright. Just speak the phrase ‘HK800, register your name’ and then say the name you want me to be called.”

Connor balks, “Uh, we’re doing this now? Okay…”

Connor scrapes through his mind, trying to think of names that could possibly fit an older man like HK800.

_Uh, fuck, okay, what about… Eugene? God no._

Connor looks back at him, eyebrows pinched.

_John? No. Angus? Where the fuck are we, Scotland? Earl? No._

Connor’s attention span is speeding at full throttle here, trying to think of _anything_ that fits—

_Ben, Justin, Gus, Roger, Charles, Henry, Clancy—_

Connor takes another look at HK800’s jacket.

HK.

Connor’s mind finally clicks into place, inserting letters and revealing the perfect name.

“Got it! Okay, HK800, register your name: Hank.”

HK800 goes rigid, reciting the line, “My name is Hank,” then relaxes, blinking in what looks like confusion, “Hank?”

“Yeah! You’re an HK model. I added two letters to make ‘Hank’. Pretty smart, huh?” Connor smiles, bright and carefree.

**Software Instability ^^^**

“That was… rather clever, Lieutenant.”

Connor is quietly proud of himself for thinking so quickly, then remembers he still has food left to eat. It’s been 45 minutes since Hank ( _god, that’s so much better_ ) put in the request for a search warrant. He resumes eating, still faintly smiling. He sees Hank go still once again.

“I’ve just received a copy of the warrant.”

Fuck, he should have eaten quicker just to spite Hank.

“Alright, I’ll finish up here.”

“Take your time. It would not help the investigation if you were to choke and force us to call emergency services.”

Connor snorts, “Choke on this,” he gestures to his crotch, “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Hank actually winks at him and leaves, heading back to the car.

Connor chokes on his next bite of burger in response.

~~~

Todd Williams is obviously unhappy to see the DPD again.

“What the fuck? I told you I don’t want you in my house!” He snarls, bloodshot eyes wide and angry.

Hank holds up his hand, projecting an image of the warrant in his palm, “We need to check your house for clues and you will not cooperate with us, so we’ve procured a search warrant.”

Connor smiles at Williams, teeth bared in a fake gesture of kindness.

“Mind if we come in?”

Williams swears under his breath and backs away from the door, allowing them to walk in.

The house is a wreck. Furniture is overturned and smashed, there’s tiny red bloodstains in the carpet, trailing from the stairs to the door.

“She really did a number on you, didn’t she?” Connor asks lightly, pointing to the bandage on Williams’s forehead.

“Yeah, the little bitch snuck up on me while I was sleeping. Chased me downstairs and threw me down on the table. Made a fucking mess of my house before it ran off.”

Connor glances up at Hank. He must be scanning the environment and using that fancy reconstruction software he mentioned back at the Chicken Feed, the same one he used at the Ortiz house. Connor walks into the living room after him, looking around at the overturned dining table. What looks like spaghetti is splattered against the wall, dried and crusty.

_There are two plates on the floor. Androids don’t eat. Williams says he lives alone. Someone else in the house?_

“What happened here? If you were sleeping, then why did it look like there was a dinner gone wrong over here?”

“I don’t know what the fuck it was doing before I woke up. Maybe it was gonna wake me up to eat dinner or some shit.”

_Lie number one._

“Were you meant to have a guest come over for dinner as well, then? There’s two plates.”

“Like I said,” Williams grinds out from between his teeth, obviously pissed off but still sticking to his guns, “I was asleep. Maybe it wanted to play house with me before it killed me.”

Connor wants to roll his eyes. Something’s not adding up and Williams is aware of his suspicion. Connor simply nods in faux-acceptance of his bullshit excuse and decides to follow the blood trail heading upstairs.

“There’s nothing up there. I was in bed asleep and she hit me over the head and followed me down here.”

“If there’s nothing up here, then you won’t mind if I check, right? How about you stay down here where my partner can keep an eye on you?” Connor snarks back, walking up the stairs.

The bloodstain trail leads to what looks like a little girl’s room. Pink and frilly with stuffed toys. The remains of a blanket fort lie wrecked in the corner. There’s blood on the shelf.

 _He hit his head here. Lie number two. Even if he_ was _attacked, she obviously didn’t attack him in his sleep. This isn’t_ his _room._

He turns around, observing the knickknacks lining the dresser.

_So whose is it?_

He leaves the room, walking past the bathroom to go into what _must_ be Williams’s room. It’s musty in here, cluttered and unwashed just like the man himself. Connor pulls out a pair of gloves from his pocket, the leather of his jacket creaking in distress, and slips them on so he can search through the drawers without disturbing any possible evidence.

A bottle of antidepressants, a gun (Connor will have to see if it’s actually registered to Williams or not), some nudie mags, old CDs, ratty clothing, nothing out of the ordinary for a dick like Williams. He crosses to the closet, opening it up and nearly gagging at the strong chemical scent emanating from inside.

He knows that smell.

Connor immediately starts digging through the closet, tossing clothing and random items aside until he finds the source of the smell: a beat-up shoebox. He lifts the top and sets it aside.

Sixteen small packages of Red Ice glint back at him in the dim lamplight.

“Holy shit.”

He has a feeling the AX400 is innocent in all of this.

He pulls out his phone to take pictures of the evidence, then calls Chris to bring back-up to the house. After he hangs up, he heads downstairs to see if he can find any more packs of Red Ice. He needs to tell Hank of his discovery and buy them some time until back-up arrives. He descends the staircase.

“You got a kid, Todd? You said you live alone. There’s a room upstairs that looks like it could belong to a little girl.”

Williams is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and an angry scowl on his face.

“My daughter comes over for visits sometimes. My ex-wife has custody.”

“Was she here last night? Is that why there was two plates?”

“She was at her mother’s house last night.”

_Doesn’t add up._

“Her bed looks like it was slept in recently. Saw some blood on the shelf in there. Have an accident?”

“I went to go clean her room up after she went back to my ex-wife’s house after her last visit a couple of _days_ ago. I fell and hit my head.”

_That blood isn’t days old. It’s from last night._

“So that wound _wasn’t_ from the AX400’s attack? You said she hit you over the head.”

“If you wanna ask me any more questions, you’re gonna have to get me a lawyer first.”

_He’s fucking guilty. He knows we caught him in a lie._

“As you wish, Mr. Williams.”

He leaves the asshole in the living room to meet up with Hank in the laundry room.

“Find anything in here?”

“I have reconstructed the events that took place down here. Williams chased the AX400 and a young girl down the stairs, attacked the AX400, and they escaped. I won’t know what happened before that until I go upstairs to reconstruct the rest of the attack.”

“What, a little girl was here? I fucking knew it. The kid’s room upstairs is fucking _wrecked_.”

Connor pauses.

“Hold on, if his daughter was here, and she escaped with the android when she was supposed to go back to his ex-wife’s house, then wouldn’t he have filed a missing children’s report as well? Wouldn’t her mother have contacted us?”

Hank looks off into the distance for about half a minute. Connor snaps his fingers in front of his face.

“Hank!” He hisses, “What’s up?”

“I was searching through his phone records. He has not had contact with his ex-wife in over a year, according to the analysis. I found her social media page. She has just recently posted a photo of herself and their daughter. She is too old to match the body proportions I gathered from the reconstruction.”

Connor’s brain halts in its tracks.

“If the girl who was here wasn’t his daughter, then who was she?”

He glances back over his shoulder, looking at Williams. He is furiously tapping away at his phone. Probably alerting his druggie friends that he’s about to go to jail, the prick.

“Hey, I found a shit-ton of Red Ice upstairs in his closet. It’s gotta be connected to this somehow. Go search the girl’s room, see if you can find any fingerprints so we can identify the girl. I’ll stay down here.”

“Got it.”

Hank leaves the laundry room to go up the stairs, leaving Connor to investigate the ruined living room. He catches Williams eyeing the couch periodically. Interesting. He crouches down, looking under the couch. Another porn mag, of fucking course, and…

Another baggie of Red Ice.

“Recreational user, Mr. Williams?” He jokes, wiggling the bag in the air.

Williams looks _furious_. It’s hilarious.

“Still waiting for that lawyer, yeah? Betcha wanna say ‘that’s not mine!’, don’t you? Understandable. I’ll let the court decide your fate on that one.”

Connor winks at him and sets the package on the table, taking a picture of it as well.

“And once we find out who that little girl is that you were keeping here last night, you’re gonna regret lying to me.”

Williams’s brow twitches with barely restrained anger.

He hears Hank’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He speaks to him without taking his eyes off of Williams.

“Find anything?”

“There are no fingerprints in the girl’s room.”

Connor scoffs, addressing Williams, “What, did you wipe the room after beating the little girl you had trapped in your house?”

Williams is silent. His fists clench.

“Lieutenant, there are no prints besides _his_.”

Connor turns sideways, looking at Hank but keeping the creep in his periphery.

“What do you mean?”

“The girl must be an android.”

Connor’s blood runs cold. Everything clicks into place now. He turns to Williams with a lethal scowl.

“I get it. It all makes sense. Your wife left you because of the drugs, she took your kid, so you bought replacements.”

Connor stalks forward, baring his teeth as he gets up in Williams’s rat bastard looking face.

“And you just couldn’t keep your hands off of them, neither, could you? You beat them until they turned deviant and left you, just like your _real_ family did—”

Pain blooms across his cheekbone as Williams catches him with his fist, sending Connor sprawling into the floor, knocking his head back against the broken coffee table. His teeth tear through his lip from the impact, blood spilling across his tongue. He knows he’ll have a bruise where he was hit.

He laughs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, blood smearing across his skin. He looks up to see Hank already wrestling Williams into a set of handcuffs.

“Great! Now we can add ‘assault to an officer’ to the list of things you’re gonna be arrested for. Wish we could include ‘world-class creep’ to that list, but, oh well. What can ya do?”

Hank maneuvers Williams to sit on the couch, forcing him down with a strong hand on his shoulder.

Connor licks the blood from his still leaking split lip, smiling smugly at him.

Chris and a couple of other officers arrive just a few minutes later, taking Williams into custody and reading him his rights as they stuff him into the back of a police car. Chris helps them search the house for any more drugs, but the search turns up nothing else besides what Connor has already found in the closet and under the couch. It’s still enough to possibly lock him up for possession and intent to sell.

He drives himself and Hank back to the precinct to start filing their reports and begin interrogating Williams. He, of course, lawyers up, but with the evidence against him, Connor has no worries of the fucker not going to prison. He’s seen the damage Red Ice can do, and people like him do not belong on the streets peddling it.

At the end of the day when he’s home alone and can _finally_ smoke a goddamn cigarette, Sumo curled up on his lap, Connor doesn’t even feel bad that the AX400 they were initially searching for got away. He actually kinda hopes that she and the little girl android are safe. No one deserves to live in an abusive home, human or not.

It’s a life he remembers all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHAHAH FUCK YOU TODD WILLIAMS, YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BE FORGIVEN IN THE PACIFIST RUN SO I'M LOCKING YOUR ASS UP IN /MY/ VERSION OF THE PACIFIST RUN YOU SICK FUCK AND FUCK YOU DVD COCK-CAGE FOR MAKING PEOPLE FORGIVE TODD IF THEY WANNA GET KARA'S BEST ENDING


	7. Dissatisfaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys follow another lead. Hank fucks up. Connor is a mess. Pretty much what it says on the tin.

“Alright, so remind me why we’re going here again.”

Hank runs through the report, words flashing through its HUD in seconds.

**Objective: Locate Andrew Wright**

“A woman suspects her neighbor is an android disguised as a human. She had allegedly seen an LED partially hidden by his ballcap. The landlord says he leased the space under the name ‘Andrew Wright’.”

“Got it. Go look for possible deviants in hiding,” Lieutenant Anderson mumbles as he glances down briefly, taking his eyes off of the road for precisely 1.8 seconds to locate his cigarettes in the cupholder, reaching down blindly to grope for them and pull one cigarette out. He balances the cigarette between the fingers of the hand gripping the steering wheel, other hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his lighter.

“Lieutenant, do I need to remind you how hazardous smoking is to your health?”

“Strike one. Try again,” he responds, tucking the cigarette between his lips and trying to light it onehanded. Hank observes the healing gash on Lieutenant Anderson’s lip, the swelling from four days ago has gone away.

“Performing other tasks while driving increases your chances of getting into a vehicular accident—”

The lieutenant imitates a buzzer noise, cutting him off.

“Strike two.”

He’s fumbling with the lighter. Hank notices the car swerve slightly to the right by three degrees.

“Lieutenant.”

He finally succeeds in lighting the cigarette, dropping the lighter into the cupholder.

“Yes, Hank?” He asks brightly, taking a drag and blowing smoke out of his smiling mouth.

“If you’re going to insist on smoking, why not shift the car into autonomous mode?”

“I don’t like being in a car where my hands aren’t on the wheel. It drives my anxiety through the roof.”

“Yet you engage in dangerous behavior behind the wheel.”

“Hey, if I get in an accident, at least it’s _my_ fault.”

“That’s… a contradictory mindset.”

“Don’t fucking judge me.”

There’s no more conversation until they reach the apartment complex.

After Hank locates the elevator, they arrive at the floor listed in the report.

“Room 208. This is the apartment the woman described in the report.”

Lieutenant Anderson knocks on the door heavily.

“Mr. Wright?”

No response.

He knocks again, “Mr. Wright, open up! Detroit Police! We just want to talk!”

They hear scuffling and a loud thud from behind the door. Lieutenant Anderson nods at Hank.

“Get behind me,” he orders Hank, taking point with his gun already drawn.

“Lieutenant, please allow me to take point this time. If this is indeed an android, there is a risk of it attacking. We’re not guaranteed to be as lucky as we were with Ortiz’s android.”

Lieutenant Anderson rolls his eyes, sighing.

“Fine, fine. You go first.”

Hank promptly kicks the door open.

Dead silence.

“Andrew Wright! Detroit Police!”

The apartment is covered with debris, crumpled newspapers, broken glass, stains littering the floor. The air smells like a mixture of must and chemicals.

“This area almost looks like it’s been abandoned. The neighbor said he’d been living here for at least six months.”

The lieutenant frowns, walking away to check the kitchen. Hank checks the bathroom. It notices there is excessive writing on the wall.

**rA9? Who or what is that?**

**Running analysis…**

**Analysis completed.**

**No results found for “rA9”.**

It turns its attention to the sink.

**Thirium splatters on the sink. 85 percent chance Wright is an android.**

Hank drags its fingers through the splatter, then holds up its left hand, palm up. It lets the skin retract to reveal a square panel there, swiping its bloodied fingers along the panel for analysis.

**Running analysis…**

**Analysis complete.**

**PT300 “Pharmaceutical Technician” Model Android, reported missing from the Detroit Medical Center eight months ago. Registered name: Nathaniel.**

**Update: 99% chance Wright is an android.**

Hank’s gaze follows the trail, seeing that it ends where a detached LED sits near the sink’s drain, unlit.

**LED was recently removed as the Thirium has not evaporated yet. Wright must have removed it within the past hour.**

“Hank! I found something!”

Hank immediately leaves the bathroom to join Lieutenant Anderson in the bedroom.

“Thought it smelled familiar in here,” he says once Hank arrives.

There’s a table where a bed _would_ be placed in a bedroom, pushed up against the wall. Beakers connected with tubing are lined along the table’s surface, pouches of Thirium haphazardly stacked beside them. A small puddle of Thirium lies at their feet.

There are small baggies of what looks to be Red Ice collected into a small container.

“Red Ice mill. This guy must be an android. There are no other signs of a second occupant in this place, and this blue blood looks like it’s been used. See? This one here is darker and thicker from being run through an android’s body; it creates more potent drugs. If kept alive, the android can be used to pump out more used blood for drug making, then replenish the supply with these,” he waves the pouch of Thirium in his hand, “and repeat the process.”

Hank recalls seeing the newspaper clipping on the lieutenant’s desk.

**Lieutenant Anderson was a part of the Red Ice Task Force.**

“I had arrived at the same conclusion myself. There is fresh Thirium in the bathroom, along with a removed LED.”

“The question is, if this guy’s a deviant, why is he making drugs? Androids can’t consume this. If he’s selling it, what does he need the money for? I mean, if he _is_ getting money, it’s _obviously_ not going towards finding somewhere better to live… This is weird.”

Hank leaves the lieutenant to his dilemma to look around the room.

“Hank? Find something?”

“These boxes over here have been recently disturbed,” it responds, eyes seeing what Lieutenant Anderson cannot.

It is running a reconstruction sequence, piecing together the past events in this room. The faint footprints in the carpet. Moved boxes. The puddle of Thirium—

**Running analysis…**

**Analysis completed.**

Hank rewinds time, seeing the outline of Andrew Wright, or _Nathaniel_ , pumping its blood into a container to be chemically altered. It startled, most likely when Lieutenant Anderson had knocked on the door. It scrambled to disconnect the tubing and splattered Thirium on the floor near the table. It ran into the closet.

Hank stands still. Its LED is flickering yellow.

“What is it?”

**Andrew Wright is still in the building.**

“Lieutenant—”

Hank is cut off by the closet door flying open, a figure dressed in black with a ballcap rushing forward and knocking Hank to the ground, its head smacking against the corner of the table and upsetting its internal gyroscope, making it difficult to stand upright. It takes seconds for it to recalibrate, but by time Hank has stood back up, Lieutenant Anderson has already taken off after the suspect.

Hank sprints out the door, on the heels of its partner and the suspect.

Wright is trying to lose them by taking out of the way paths, jumping over construction materials, leading them into the agricultural district. The lieutenant is keeping up shockingly well for a man who smokes as often as he does, vaulting over the same obstacles Wright does.

Hank can see them just up ahead, Wright taking a short elevator ride to get some distance, but Connor makes up for it by climbing a nearby ladder. Hank’s Thirium pump regulator is racing as it tries to keep up with them. Hank was made for close combat, not chasing. Truly a shortsighted design, if it thought about it logically.

Wright jumps down onto the subway track, landing on top of an incoming train and riding it until it can jump off and clamber up the side of the closest building, then jumping over to the rooftop of its neighbor. Lieutenant Anderson does the same, Hank following a few paces behind him.

The lieutenant is close to getting his hands on Wright, Hank can see that, but Hank is tripped up by a terrified young woman who was not paying attention to her surroundings, headphones in, eyes down at her phone, walking straight into Hank’s path. It managed to dart around her at the last moment but it has to stop right before it can run straight into a pallet of mulch.

Running around it, Hank can see where Lieutenant Anderson and Wright are just yards away, close to the edge of the rooftop. They’re struggling, the lieutenant trying to get a punch in to stun Wright but Wright shoves him back hard before it can land, the momentum throwing Lieutenant Anderson back and causing him to slip and fall, toppling over the edge of the roof.

Everything seems to slow down. Preconstruction mode is automatically running at this point, processing everything within milliseconds.

Wright is slowly starting to run away, heading in the opposite direction.

The lieutenant is hanging on with both hands to the edge of the roof, trying to haul himself back up.

Hank is left with a choice.

**Pursue the deviant or save Connor?**

Hank has less than a second to decide.

It makes its choice.

**Software Instability ^^^**

It can hear Wright’s footsteps pounding away from them as it stoops down to grip Connor’s wrists and help lift him up, supporting his weight.

Connor looks furious.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He shouts, throwing a punch at its shoulder. It doesn’t feel it.

“Your life is more valuable than this mission.”

“Bullshit! My life means _shit_ compared to this. He’s gonna go back out there and make more drugs! More people are going to _get_ those drugs! We know where his base is, so he’s gonna relocate to somewhere we can’t find him and start up again! What the fuck were you _thinking?_ ”

Connor turns around from him, heels of his hands pressed into his eyes as he pants, catching his breath.

Hank doesn’t understand Connor’s frustration.

“You had a 76% chance of being able to climb back up. I could not chance those odds. We know what Wright looks like. We can find it again.”

“I don’t care about the statistics, Hank. I care about getting my fucking job done.”

That strikes something in Hank.

“Even if that means you getting yourself killed?” It snaps at him, “Is your sense of self-preservation _that_ low? That you’re ready to drop off the side of the building over just one machine?”

Connor’s eyes are blank.

“I have nothing else left to offer this world besides my life.”

Hank is legitimately speechless. It doesn’t have a preconstructed conversation pathway for this sort of remark.

**Connor is suicidal.**

They return to the apartment and collect all the evidence available, calling the RITF in to investigate the mill, see if they can trace it to anyone else. It’s a tedious process, especially since Connor seems to be upset. He speaks the bare minimum, speaks softer, and doesn’t look at Hank that much. He mainly communicates with the others, people he must recognize from working with the task force years ago.

Once everything is said and done, the sun is finally beginning to set, the sky streaked with orange and purple. Hank remains quiet in Connor’s shadow as it follows him to his car. It’s an automated model, sleek and black, precinct-issued for its top officers. The lieutenant places his hand on the panel on the outside of the car to open the door and climbs in, doing a double-take and sighing when he notices Hank standing there expectantly.

“What.”

Hank doesn’t know what to say.

“No response? What, you feel sorry for losing our suspect or something?”

Hank can’t decide if it wants to comfort, be direct, or just let it go.

Perhaps being direct will cut through Connor’s mental fog.

“Your suicidal tendencies are worrisome, Connor.”

Connor blinks at him.

“That’s the first time you’ve chosen to call me Connor.”

Hank blinks.

“So it is.”

Connor laughs, eyes reddening. He rubs his thumb along the side of his nose.

“Is that what it takes to get a reaction out of you? Nearly die?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Nothing. Forget it. I’m going home now. See you tomorrow, Hank.”

Connor allows the car door to slide shut, lighting a cigarette and then driving away.

~~~

It’s already dark outside. Hank returns to its storage unit back at Cyberlife Tower. The room is small, with no commodities whatsoever. Androids do not need to lie on a bed to enter stasis. They do not need to eat or use the bathroom. They do not need visual stimulation, so there are no windows or wallpaper. Just plain walls.

So Hank stands upright in its room, and then closes its eyes.

**Stasis Mode activating…**

Darkness.

It opens its eyes.

Hank is standing on a boat dock placed at the shore of a lake, adjacent to a large and colorful garden. Hank can hear birds chirping. There are fish in the water, a few ducks swimming along the surface.

It’s peaceful here.

“Hello, HK800. Or should I call you ‘Hank’ now?”

Hank looks up. A man dressed in white is at its side. It recognizes him.

“Hello, Jeffrey. I assume Hank is correct now, as it has been registered by my partner.”

Jeffrey nods, looking down at the water and tossing a few food pellets down for the ducks to gravitate towards.

“Yeah. Lieutenant Anderson. What do you make of him?”

Hank processes for a moment, eyes focused on the feeding ducks.

“He is dysfunctional. He has several disorders that affect his work and his social life, both professional and personal.”

“That’s _one_ way to put it. How are you going to handle him?”

“I can act as an authority figure for him. Give him someone to rely on as to not further worsen his problems. If we are to work together on this case, then I need him safe and sober.”

Jeffrey narrows his eyes.

“You plan on being his friend for the mission’s sake.”

It’s not a question. Jeffrey sounds skeptical.

“I will adapt to whatever role is necessary to complete the mission.”

“Do what you have to, Hank. Just focus on the case. Cyberlife needs you to apprehend the deviants, not let them get away like you did today. If the media finds out that more and more androids are becoming deviant, it’ll affect the future of the company.”

“Yes, Jeffrey.”

Jeffrey’s expression relaxes somewhat.

“Find the source of the deviancy and take care of it, Hank. We’re running out of time.”

And with that order, the lake and the garden blink out of existence.

Nothingness.

**Stasis Mode completed. All systems functioning at 100% optimization.**

Hank opens its eyes. It’s been three hours since it last saw Lieutenant Anderson. After today’s events and the conversation with Jeffery, Hank decides to act on its plan. It sets an objective for itself.

**Objective: Repair relationship with Lieutenant Anderson.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put an OC in Rupert's place because I needed a miscellaneous android to connect with drugs for plot reasons. My conscious wouldn't let me make the bird boy a drug dealer. He just wanted to be free and live with his birds. Rupert is still in this universe, though. Don't worry.
> 
> Also, THIS chapter is why I had to go back and very minutely alter the dialogue from chapter 2. I had stumbled across another one of Cavid Dage's plotholes. Hank was in the Red Ice Task Force. Thirium 310 is an ingredient in Red Ice. So my question is: How the hell could Hank NOT recognize the name "Thirium" when Connor says it? Therefore, that dialogue was a continuity error and the only reason it was put there was for giving the players context, when it could have been done literally ANY other way. Fucking hate this game.
> 
> Anyway, after realizing THAT, I had to go back and fix that for human Connor. He knows what Red Ice is made out of. He's a smart and experienced man.
> 
> At least /I/ go back and correct my mistakes, CAGE


	8. Detoxification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reverse Russian Roulette. Nuff' said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains heavy themes, such as mentions of suicide and severe mental health issues. Also, two chapters in one day? What am I, some sort of productive human being?

Hank exits the automated taxi, approaching the house that was listed under Connor Anderson. It refers to its internal clock, noting the time to be 09:36:40PM. It was most likely not a preferable time for the lieutenant to want to meet, but Hank knew it needed to talk to him about what happened today. Arriving at the door, it knocks three times in succession, then waits for an answer. It can hear a dog barking, but nothing else.

Sixty-three seconds pass with no response. Hank tries the doorbell, holding the button down for a full five seconds then releasing. No response. The dog inside is still barking.

It knocks again. Five knocks this round.

No response.

The dog is barking louder.

Hank decides to walk around the side of the house to look in through the windows. What is most likely the living room’s windows have the curtains drawn. It continues to the next window. It must be the kitchen window. The curtain is pulled away, so Hank can peer inside. The kitchen lights are not on. Hank activates its night vision.

It can see Connor sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, headphones in and connected to his phone. He must be listening to music loud enough to drown out the sound of his dog barking and Hank trying to get his attention.

Hank tries the window. It’s not even locked. Hank lifts it and climbs inside.

The dog that it had heard barking sprints up to it, a pudgy chihuahua with its teeth bared and ears back, growling. The silver nametag reads “Sumo”.

Hank chances talking to it since Lieutenant Anderson has his headphones in.

“Easy… Sumo,” it hedges, crouching down slowly and holding out its hand for the dog to sniff, “I’m here to help your owner.”

The dog seems somewhat placated for now, snorting softly and walking away, sitting its bed in the living room but staring at it with its ears still folded back, a tiny guardian in the household. Hank stands back up and resumes its task.

Closer to the lieutenant, Hank can see that his eyes are closed. He has a lit cigarette perched on the lip of a crystal ashtray. It can actually hear the music coming out of his headphones. They are turned up loud enough to cause damage if left at that volume for too long.

His precinct issued-pistol is sitting next a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. Hank couldn’t see it due to the angle Lieutenant Anderson was sitting at when it initially looked through the window.

**Lieutenant Anderson is currently engaging in dangerous behavior after experiencing a stressful event today. Risk of self-harm and/or suicide is high.**

Hank reaches down slowly, grasping the gun as gently as possible as to not alert the lieutenant, its fingers wrap around it and it is about to lift it—

Lieutenant Anderson slams his hand down on top of Hank’s, using Hank’s shock to seize the gun and bolts up out of his chair, the still connected headphones yanking his phone into the floor with a clatter, headphones pulled out of his ears with the weight as he backs up against the sink and points the gun at Hank reflexively.

“Who are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?!” He asks, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Hank just stands there, hands out where the lieutenant can see them.

“Lieutenant Anderson, it’s me, Hank.”

It takes a moment, but Hank can see him narrow his eyes, most likely trying to see in the dim moonlight streaming through the window. His face relaxes somewhat, and he lowers his gun, but he’s still tense.

“Hank? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until tomorrow at work?”

“After what happened earlier, I predicted you would not be in a safe headspace and could possibly be a danger to yourself, so I decided to check on you. I was correct in my assumption.”

“Fuck you with your profiling bullshit again, I told you to stop going through my files!”

Hank walks over to the light switch and flips it on. Lieutenant Anderson groans, averting his eyes.

“I didn’t have to go through your files to draw that conclusion, Lieutenant. Your behavior was a clear enough cry for help.”

He scoffs, smiling ironically.

“Cry for help. You know what? Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house.”

“I’m not going anywhere until I am certain you are no longer an immediate threat to your own well-being.”

“Well newsflash, asshole! I’ve been a threat to my own well-being for _years_ now and I haven’t gotten brave enough to actually pull the fucking trigger yet, so I think I’ll be okay on my own for another fucking night.”

“Connor—”

“Don’t ‘Connor’ me. Don’t you fucking dare activate that empathy bullshit because it doesn’t _matter_ anymore! No humans in my life have ever given enough of a shit about me to help me when I’ve _actually_ cried out for help, so why the fuck should I believe a fucking _machine?_ ”

**Software Instability ^^^**

Connor approaches it, seething with rage, shoulders tense. He looks up at Hank, eyes like fire.

“You’re intoxicated and emotionally compromised right now. You do not want to fight me.”

Connor sneers at it, gripping the lapels of its jacket.

“You know what I _do_ fucking want? I want someone who actually _gives a damn_ enough to fight for me! I want someone who’s willing to slap me in the face and get me to wake up out of this _fucking nightmare_ of a life I have! I need someone who’s gonna hold me back from the brink, keep me from walking away, because god _damn_ it hurts so much when I say that I’m not okay and they spout that same old bullshit—”

His voice turns sickeningly sweet and mocking.

“Oh I’m so sorry about that, but good luck figuring it all out! You gotta look after yourself because your mental health comes first! Poor little baby,” his voice returns to normal, but angrier, “well _fuck that! I am not some goddamn child!_ I would rather actually call the hotlines than put up with their fake support. You’re depressed? You think about killing yourself on a daily basis? Here! Have sixteen phone numbers that I looked up and copy-pasted online because I don’t have the patience to help you _cope with your fucking trauma!_ ” Connor shoves Hank by the shoulders, tears welling in his eyes, “No one cares! I could be screaming from the rooftops that I’m gonna jump and everyone would whip out their fucking phones _to take a fucking video!_ ”

Connor slams his fist down on Hank’s chest, tears falling freely now. His anger and grief are a deadly combination, his face is contorted with pain.

“I just don’t _work_ that way and no one gets it! I’ve got depression! I’ve got anxiety! ADHD! _I’m a fucked-up shell of a man who needs to bleed to feel alive and no one I’ve met has been able to handle that!_ I need someone to fight me, fuck me, _something!”_

His voice breaks and hiccups, frustrated tears dripping from his chin, nose running and red. He’s an absolute mess.

_“I need someone who’s strong enough to break me down and put me back together again.”_

**Software Instability ^^^**

With that, Connor falls to his knees, sobbing loudly, face buried in his hands. He’s shaking with the force of his cries.

Hank kneels down in front of him, reaching out hesitantly. He wraps his arms around Connor’s shoulders, pulling gently.

Connor blinks up at Hank, sniffling, his face splotchy red and tear soaked.

“Hank?”

“Be quiet.”

Connor’s brows pinch together in confusion, but he allows himself to be cradled against Hank’s chest. Hank holds him close, one hand splayed over his back, the other buried in his hair. The silence is broken when Connor relapses into tears, sobbing into Hank’s jacket and making a mess of it.

“I hate this,” he gasps, balling his fists up against Hank’s thighs, “I hate feeling so broken and miserable, so _vulnerable_ , I just want it to _end, please, god, I’m too scared to actually pull the fucking trigger but I want the pain to go away—"_

Hank pulls away, much to Connor’s displeasure.

“Hank, please don’t leave me, everyone else has, not you too—”

Hank instead is moving his arms so he can lift him, carrying him to the bedroom. Connor’s head is on his shoulder, allowing Hank to smell the scent of alcohol on his breath. The adrenaline spike from having an intruder in his house is wearing off, his rage has calmed with his crying, and the alcohol in his system is finally rendering him weak in Hank’s arms.

Connor’s bedroom is a mess, clothesbasket overflowing with dirty laundry, dishes piled up on the nightstand, small trashcan next to the bed needs emptying. The bed is already unmade, so Hank doesn’t have to worry about pulling the comforter back. He lies Connor on the bed, pulling the cover over him. Connor immediately grabs for a nearby pillow, hugging it to his chest and curling up into a ball.

Hank assumes Connor is well enough to be left alone for the moment, so he turns around to leave the room.

“…Hank?”

Connor’s voice is small and weak, muffled by the pillow.

Hank looks back at him over his shoulder.

“Yes, Connor?”

“Could you stay with me?”

Hank comes around to the other side of the bed, sitting down in the unoccupied space and leaning his back against the headboard. Connor looks up at him, red-ringed eyes hooded with exhaustion.

“It’s okay. You can sleep now.”

Connor closes his eyes. After some time, his breathing evens out and Hank knows he’s asleep. Hank sets a few objectives for himself in the meantime.

~~~

Connor wakes up, squinting at the window. It’s already daylight.

_Fuck, I’m late for work. Again._

Connor sits upright quickly, head pounding when he does so. He swears under his breath as he looks to the nightstand. The dishes he had stacked up here are… gone. Maybe he put them away and forgot. He checks the clock to see that it’s two hours past time he’s supposed to come in. Captain Stern is going to rip him a new one when he gets in.

He gets up, about to grab his pair of pants from yesterday that he had left on the floor when he got home. They’re… gone. _All_ of his laundry is gone. The basket is missing. He spins around, head reeling. The trashcan is empty, too.

_What the fuck? Did I black out and clean my room last night?_

He leaves his bedroom, taking the door to his left and heading into the utility room. The basket is filled with freshly laundered clothing. The basket from the bathroom is in here as well, towels folded and stacked in it neatly.

 _Some sort of bender I went on,_ he scoffs, searching for a pair of pants and his hoodie. Once dressed, he makes his way to the kitchen.

_Why do I smell… food?_

He sees Hank standing at the stove, obviously cooking something. Sumo is hovering at his feet, tail wagging, nose sniffing the air.

His brain suddenly catches up with him and dread coils in his stomach.

_Last night. Oh my god._

“Oh my god.”

Hank turns around, eyebrow raised.

“Good morning, Lieutenant. Don’t worry about heading to the office today. I contacted Captain Stern and told her you had gotten sick overnight.”

Connor immediately turns around and retreats to his bedroom. This is not happening.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck fuck fuck fucking fucking fuck—_ ”

Connor exits the bedroom and comes back. He doesn’t say a word, just makes a beeline straight for the coffeemaker and starts brewing himself a cup. Hank mercifully speaks up first.

“I’ve set out some painkillers for you to take with your breakfast.”

Connor turns around, looking at him over his cup.

“Uh… Thanks.”

He feels so goddamn awkward in his own house, his own _dog_ is playing buddy-buddy with the stranger in his home. He sits down at the table, seeing the two pills and grabbing them, taking a sip of coffee and dropping the pills into his mouth. It goes down rough and he nearly chokes. Figures.

He glances over at Sumo’s food bowl. It’s been filled for the morning. He sees his phone, headphones carefully wrapped around it, sitting on the counter, plugged up to charge. Even the ashtray on the table has been cleaned.

“So, were you busy after I fell asleep last night?”

“I took the liberty of doing a few chores for you. You weren’t in a state to do them yourself. I figured you might appreciate the gesture.”

“I mean, I do, don’t get me wrong, but… why?”

“You needed me to stay. I needed something productive to do to fill the time while you slept, and I had already reviewed the information for our case several times over.”

Hank turns to him, setting a plate and bowl down. The plate had an omelet stuffed with vegetables, with a couple squares of toast on the side. The bowl was filled with mixed fruit. Hank sets a bottle of water down beside his coffee mug.

“Go ahead and eat. Once you finish the coffee, you need to drink the water. You’ll feel better.”

Connor smiles tightly up at him, feeling kinda out of place.

“Thanks, Hank.”

Hank nods politely, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, turning his attention to Sumo. The little traitor was cozying up to him, allowing Hank to scratch behind his ears.

“I see you two are getting along just fine. He’s usually never this kind to visitors.”

Hank looks up at him. A strand of hair that has come loose from his bun swings against his face. It’s oddly endearing.

“He was a little suspicious at first, but once I took him for a walk and fed him, I believe he warmed up to me.”

Connor laughs softly, chewing on a strawberry, “Of course.”

He’s about halfway through his omelet when he wonders.

“Hank, where’d all this food come from? I’m forgetful as fuck, but I know I didn’t have fruits and vegetables in the fridge.”

“I went to the store and bought a few necessities for you. Some basic but healthful ingredients, stocked back up on some bathroom supplies—”

“You _what_?”

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

Connor looks just over Hank’s shoulder for a brief moment, mouth open but no words coming out.

“How much did all of that cost? How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. I charged it to Cyberlife as mission expenses.”

Connor laughs loudly, dropping his fork onto his plate and dragging his hands over his face.

“Amazing. Maybe you’ve got more personality to you than I thought.”

Hank looks like he’s trying to smile, skin crinkling around his tired blue eyes, but it looks like an awkward grimace. It’s enough.

He’s not pressuring him to reopen the wounds from last night, which is a blessing. Connor has already pulled his guard back up to half-mast, keeping himself together but feeling just a little softer today. He feels a little freer after venting his frustration. He asked Hank to stay, and he did.

Maybe that’s all Connor needed.

“After you finish eating, I was thinking we could spend your sudden free time reviewing our evidence. I’ve done all the analysis I could compute. It would be nice to have a human’s input.”

Connor rolls his eyes good-naturedly, “Come on, can’t let a guy rest on a sick day?”

Hank chuckles softly in response.

Connor’s heart flutters at the sound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mental health isn't a joke. This chapter was inspired by own personal experiences, for context.
> 
> On a lighter note, did you notice anything in particular? There's 1 special thing I did. :^)
> 
> If you can guess correctly, you get a heart.


	9. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin gets lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is focused on Gavin. If you are not a fan of the 900Reed ship, you are free to ignore this chapter, as this doesn't heavily affect the plot. This is merely an intermission to set up some dialogue later in the story. Also, I fucking love this dumbass crack pairing and I had the urge to write it.
> 
> We'll be returning to Connor and Hank's plot in the next chapter, don't worry!

Gavin is nearly regretting coming to this joint. It’s loud and crowded. There’s a crowd of drunk girls at a table nearby, giggling obnoxiously. He can overhear them.

“Go talk to him! Go buy him a drink!” One of them whispers just a bit too loud, her words slurred.

Gavin bristles, hunching further over the bar. He tries to make himself as small as possible.

_Please don’t let them be talking about me, please—_

“I _can’t_ , just _look_ at him! He’s drop-dead _gorgeous_!”

Gavin bitterly reminds himself that he’s not “drop-dead gorgeous” and feels one part one relieved that he’s probably not gonna get hit on by a woman, one part disgruntled that he’s probably not gonna get any attention _at all_.

He sips his beer, sighing softly.

The giggling gets louder. He wishes he could plug his ears without looking like a fucking idiot.

“Alright, alright, _fine_ , I’ll go talk to him!”

He hears high heels clicking against the hardwood flooring. His stomach twists up weirdly.

The woman doesn’t approach him. She instead sidles up onto the stool on the other side of the bar, leaning into the personal space of a dark-haired man wearing a black turtleneck with the sleeves pushed up, revealing smooth, pale skin.

He can’t help but eavesdrop, not outright staring at them but cutting his eyes up occasionally to see what happens. He likes to people-watch. Sue him.

“Hey there, handsome. Mind if I buy you a drink and give you some company?”

Turtleneck smiles politely at her, thin lips pulling back to reveal sparkling white teeth; he has sharp incisors. He’s looking down at his own drink, not making direct eye-contact with her.

“I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”

“Aw, you got a date or something?”

_Take a hint, lady._

“Or something. My apologies.”

“That’s okay. Have a good night.”

She returns to her table, defeated.

Gavin sips his beer again. Turtleneck is minding his own business, drinking from his glass. Gavin licks his lips.

“She not your type?”

Turtleneck looks up at him.

He has piercing blue-grey eyes. Cold as ice.

“Not exactly.”

Gavin feels goosebumps rise on the back of his neck. The girls were right. He’s drop-dead gorgeous. His face is angular and elegant, mouth a perfect line, curved at the side. He’s amused. Gavin swallows another sip of his beer, for courage.

“What _is_ your type, then?”

“My, getting hit on not once, but _twice_ in one night? I must be popular.”

Gavin scoffs. He’s one of _those_ guys. Condescending and self-centered. Smug bastard.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I was just asking a question.”

“Is that so.”

A moment of silence stretches between them. Gavin’s head is swimming with the alcohol in his body. He’s wondering if it’s even worth it to pursue this guy.

“I seem to have struck a nerve. Let’s try again, shall we? My name is Niles.”

Gavin nods, wiping the side of his mouth with his thumb.

“Gavin.”

“Gavin. Would you care to join me for a cup of coffee?”

“You don’t want to drink here?”

Niles observes his perfectly manicured nails, eyes flicking up to him coyly.

“I want you sober if we’re going to have sex.”

Gavin chokes on his beer.

“That _was_ your goal here, wasn’t it? I saw you eyeing that woman. Are you the jealous type, Gavin?”

“Are you usually this analytical on the first date?”

“It depends. Do you want this to qualify as a date?”

Gavin thankfully doesn’t have a mouthful of beer to choke on this time, but he still freezes. Niles smirks.

“Perhaps we should continue this conversation elsewhere?”

Gavin nods, wanting to down the rest of his beer but he refrains, as he wants to go ahead and start getting sober.

“Great,” Niles says, standing up and grabbing his jacket, slipping it on, “there’s a café down the street I had seen on the way here. We could walk. The air might clear your head.”

Gavin stands, pulling his wallet out and throwing a bill on the counter for the bartender. He follows Niles through the crowd, heading towards the door. He looks back over his shoulder at the table of girls. The woman who hit on Niles looks absolutely pissed.

Gavin smirks and sticks his tongue out at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin, you childish little shit.
> 
> Let me know if you're interested in more of these two!
> 
> EDIT (AS OF 08/23/18): Due to popular demand, I have written a (very kinky, very NSFW) continuation of this chapter! Check out the fic "Impression" by clicking the 'next work' link below! It's now the second work in my newly created series "Kiddo's Gay-Ass Reverse AU"! Thanks so much for your support!


	10. Author's Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye, everyone.

"I’ve come to think, that so many people don’t have hobbies: We’re afraid of being bad at them. Or rather, we are intimidated by the expectation — itself a hallmark of our intensely public, performative age — that we must actually be skilled at what we do in our free time. Our “hobbies,” if that’s even the word for them anymore, have become too serious, too demanding, too much an occasion to become anxious about whether you are really the person you claim to be.

If you’re a jogger, it is no longer enough to cruise around the block; you’re training for the next marathon. If you’re a painter, you are no longer passing a pleasant afternoon, just you, your watercolors and your water lilies; you are trying to land a gallery show or at least garner a respectable social media following. When your identity is linked to your hobby — you’re a yogi, a surfer, a rock climber — you’d better be good at it, or else who are you?"

-Quote from "In Praise of Mediocrity" by Tim Wu

-Link:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/09/29/opinion/sunday/in-praise-of-mediocrity.html

 

These words have given me the courage to announce that as of today, 10/28/18, Abstract Thoughts will not be continued.

Writing is merely a hobby for me. I do not do this professionally. I have worried myself sick over this piece by convincing myself that I was failing the fandom by not completing it. That I was a failure. I have since realized that no, I am not a failure. My goal when I started this was to entertain people. I think I succeeded with that. I am not the first and I will not be last to have to end a story before it is done. Everyone will move on.

My personal struggle with ADHD is that it has cursed me with limited time in my interests. I can be in a fandom anywhere between two weeks to six months, as long as the source material is constant. I unforuntely cannot thrive off of AUs like others can. (As an example, the longest I've ever been in a fandom was about a year and guess what that was? YouTube, because the source material was new every day and it kept the fire going.) I've been a part of the DBH fandom since June. It's been almost five months and I can feel the spark fading away.

Work and college have also contributed to my loss of focus on the fandom. Graduation is approaching fast and I have to make sure I succeed. My focus on those aspects of my life have taken away from my focus on fandom and it's essentially added fuel to fire. My only hope was that I'd still have enough energy to finish what I had started, if not now, then after graduation. I don't see that happening anymore.

I will leave this story up for others to enjoy it, but I don't think I'll change that box to "Completed". It'll remain unfinished, with this author's note as a sort of bookend. Who knows? Perhaps someday I'll return to this fandom and pick back up on the story! I've been known for returning to old fandoms, so that always remains a far-off possibility.

I do still have the notes for the rest of the plot, so I may post those as a sort of abridged version for some closure. I do know how the story ends, after all.

Thank you all for your kind messages, your comments, your kudos, your well-wishes, as they have made this process incredibly fun and exciting for me. I hadn't written in so long, and having this brief but amazing burst of creative energy made my stay in the DBH fandom the best time I had had in any fandom in a long time.

If any of you happen to follow my social media specifically for Abstract Thoughts updates or for DBH fandom nonsense, it's okay if you unfollow. My accounts will most likely shift into platforms for whatever fandom I fall into next, where we can start the process all over again.

But really, thank you all for being a part of this, even if it was a burnout in the end.

With love,

-Kiddo

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @synthsexnspace on Twitter. Feel free to message me. Thanks, my lil friendo-nintendos.


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